


Hand-off

by PunkHazard



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small teams are, somewhat counterintuitively, harder to manage than large teams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand-off

"Unsui-senpai," Monta says, catching the bottle Unsui accidentally knocks off the corner of the table and setting it properly back, "you're losing it MAX." 

He'd dispute that, but Unsui has to admit that he's been absent-minded lately, so close to the start of the season. The team's already trooped out to the field, Monta hanging back to dig up a new pack of gloves after wearing the rubber off his current pair; he's been working on passing after practice with Unsui lately, one more weapon for his arsenal that he hadn't had the time to refine at Deimon. 

"Things are busy," he says in his own defense, flipping the gloves out of the communal storage locker and lobbing them across the locker room in a graceful arc. "We have a training camp this weekend, and the season starts in two weeks." 

Monta asks after a short pause, "Didn't you have everything booked weeks ago?" 

"Our order for new equipment is taking a while to go through, I'm not sure what we're going to do about food once we head up the mountain, Mizumachi's jersey is in bad shape and I still have to get him another one, Sena and Mizumachi need to pull their math grades up or they'll get kicked off the team--" 

The receiver cuts him off, arms waving furiously in front of his face. "I got it, Unsui-senpai! Sorry I asked!" 

Unsui looks at him, mouth twisted in an expression that indicates more disappointment with himself than anyone else; unloading on Monta wasn't fair. "We'll be fine," he reassures the younger boy, "it's just stressful when it all piles up like this." 

"And you have exams coming up too, huh..." 

"Well, I'm not worried about those." 

Monta flashes him a look that's half jealous, half admiring, and he punches Unsui on the shoulder. "If you give me all the info, I can keep an eye on the equipment and order Mizumachi's jersey," he volunteers easily, "I helped out with that stuff on the baseball team at Deimon, it's MAX easy." 

"Are you sure--" 

"Yeah!" Monta trots out the door, then glances over his shoulder with a grin. "Now come on, we gotta get on the field!" 

* * *

The last person Mamori expects to get a call from while she prepares next day's lunch for the Wizards is Kongo Unsui. 

Well-- maybe not the _last_ , but on the list of names likely to flash on the little window of her phone, Unsui would have ranked somewhere between 'Kid' and 'Sakuraba Hayato'. Less surprising is the trill from the other end, an ecstatic, "Mamo-nee!" and Suzuna's usual deluge of greetings. Then: "Mamo-nee, Uu-nii needs help getting a really tough blood stain out of his and Kuritan's jerseys. I was gonna text you, but he wanted to call 'cause he didn't know if you had his number and it'd be weird if you just got a 'HOW DO YOU GET BLOOD OUT OF CLOTHES' SMS." 

The word 'blood' always gets her attention (the questions in her mind being 'whose?' and 'I wonder if they're okay?') and Mamori gives a surprised, "Oh," before she hears the shuffle of a cellphone being passed along. 

"Sorry to bother you," Unsui says politely, "it usually comes out without a lot of work." 

"Are you okay, Unsui-kun?" 

"Aah, it was just a scratch." 

"Ya, stop lying," Suzuna says just loudly enough for Mamori to hear, "Uu-nii was bleeding _all over the place_. Put Mamo-nee on speaker!" 

Unsui says as he complies, voice firm, "It wasn't as bad as it looked." 

"I'll take your word for it," Mamori answers blithely, wedging her phone between ear and shoulder while she grabs a rice paddle and starts scraping down the sides of the cooker, popping open a container of umeboshi. "Did you pre-soak?" 

"For about an hour. It's usually enough." 

"If there's a lot of blood, you may have to do it overnight." 

There's the sound of splashing water on the other end, polyester rubbing and then a dejected, "Is it too late now?" 

"It shouldn't be," Mamori reassures him, "but maybe use a stronger detergent than usual." 

Suzuna snatches the phone back, quickly briefs Mamori on the team's condition (or at least the conditions of former Deimon players, but not too much because they're still rivals) before chirping another 'thank you' and hanging up, letting her get back to managerial duties without having to coax a hapless football player through the process of team laundry. "See," she says, whirling on Unsui, "I told you we should've called hours ago!" 

"I should have listened sooner," he answers indulgently. "You don't have to stick around, Suzuna. I can handle it now." 

Suzuna's expression, pleased after having finally managed to convince Unsui to call her 'Suzuna' instead of 'Taki-san', quickly changes to a sly grin. "Nuh-uh, Uu-nii. I'll help wash Kuritan's jersey, but you better get me something good for my birthday." 

* * *

Halfway through Sunday practice, the team starts to lag. They take a break-- it's lunchtime anyway, and while Unsui is fine with a few energy bars and a bottle and a half of Pocari, the first-years are pooling their money for a run to the local convenience store. For sandwiches and maybe oden, Mizumachi hasn't stopped talking about how much he'd been craving it since morning. 

"Unsui-kun," Kurita says as he trudges in from the field (he's always last into the locker room, preferring to use the first few minutes of their break to test out silly-looking techniques), "I brought food. There's enough for everyone." 

Four heads whip around with the kind of speed Unsui wishes his team would react to things like whistles and corrections to form and technique. Mizumachi and Kotaro pin him with wild-eyed stares; Sena and Monta inch minutely closer to Kurita as the lineman hauls an enormous multi-layered bento box out of some remote corner of the locker room. He also gestures to a vat of honey lemon (maybe not literally a vat, but a massive container nonetheless). 

"The water bottles are still full," Unsui says, implicitly giving his approval while the team springs into action. Riku pours a bit of the honey lemon syrup into each of the twenty two bottles scattered around the locker room, shakes each of them before tossing it to a teammate. Sena and Monta make the rounds first to upperclassmen and then back to the cluster of juniors with bento sections stuffed to overflowing with riceballs-- simple, but practical and filling. 

Kurita nudges an entire container across the bench toward Unsui, who's idly drinking from a bottle of water and keeping a careful eye on the rest of the team. "Unsui-kun," he says insistently, "you should eat some." 

"I already ate." 

He, along with Riku and a few upperclassmen, had passed on Kurita's first offer, all of them having brought their own lunches, or snacks to tide them over until after practice. 

"It's really good," Kurita insists, "there was a big field trip to the temple this morning and we ordered a lot of food, but everyone already had breakfast so I brought it all here." 

"Alright," Unsui finally concedes, taking a riceball and biting into it as Kurita moves on to cajoling Riku into doing the same. 

* * *

"Hey," Kotaro hisses two minutes into halftime, tugging hard on Unsui's sleeve, "we have a problem." 

Kotaro is the kind of player whose problems usually turn out to be pretty minor, things like 'someone says kicks aren't important!' or 'the upperclassmen say we're gonna go for a two-point conversion after _every_ touchdown instead of TFPs, that's totally not smart' so Unsui follows him back to the bench and patiently waits for him to get to the point. 

"I wore a hole through the toe of my spikes," he says, and Unsui idly weighs the chances of the one time Kotaro's problem could potentially lose them a match cropping up on one of-- well, several games they just can't afford to lose. 

"It's fine," he says calmly, "what size do you wear? Maybe one of the upperclassman has one you can use." 

None of the upperclassmen has a size he can use. Besides, even if they did, Unsui imagines that the way cleats mold to an athlete's foot would throw their kicker off even more, with a mismatched pair. 

"How well can you kick with a hole in the toe of your spikes?" Unsui asks as Kotaro takes out his comb and begins to compulsively run it through his hair. 

"Not well enough." 

He resists the mighty urge to drag a hand down his face-- it never helps to show weakness in front of his teammates, and especially not the ones who lean on him to hold steady. "We'll figure something out," Unsui tells him, eyes darting around to land on the back of Riku's head. As if on a signal, the safety turns, trots up to them and looks at Unsui with the clear-eyed serenity of someone who can be relied on. 

(Unsui has plenty of people who can and will help him if asked, but at least on the Fires, no one who can take the reins of a situation on which he's lost his grip. He doesn't think he's ever been so grateful for a crop of first-years as he has been for the one that brought in Kaitani Riku. Sure, Sena and Monta and Mizumachi are monstrously talented and an asset to the team, but they don't give him peace of mind like Riku does.) 

"Sorry for eavesdropping," Riku says, voice falling like music on Unsui's ears, "but me and Sena can help. We'll be back in time for the second half." 

"You only have twenty minutes." 

Sena flanks Riku and gives him a reassuring little smile after checking the time on his phone. "We'll make it, Unsui-san. Don't worry. The shoe store is pretty close, even though it won't be our usual one." 

"Pace yourselves," is all he says in reply. 

(They make it.) 

* * *

Small teams are, somewhat counterintuitively, harder to manage than large teams. Shinryuuji's football team never found itself short of players-- second-string, third-string-- to slink around in the stands and film the game. Two or three of them, sometimes, for games against the White Knights. 

Unsui usually doesn't have any issues with this. 

Wrangling someone to film the match is usually a matter of finding a classmate or otherwise non-football-related friend in the stands (not too viable during away games), or barring that, promising to go out for yakiniku if Agon does it, since he'll be watching the game anyway (not too viable if he has a match the same day). The confluence of events has so far rendered any other options unnecessary, but lucky streaks don't last forever and Unsui's weighing his options ten minutes before kick-off while he clears the SD card on his camcorder. 

Mizumachi reaches over his head, plucks the camera out of his hands and makes a face at the 'FORMATTING IN PROGRESS' notification blinking on the screen. "Nha, Unsui, but you saved it all, right?" 

"I had a really SMART kick last match, you know!" 

"It's all saved," Unsui answers, extending his hand for the camcorder while Kotaro drags Mizumachi's arm down to get a better look. 

"Who's filming this game?" the kicker asks as Mizumachi hands the camera back to Unsui. 

"I'm still trying to work that out." 

"I can do it," Kotaro volunteers, prodding at the device in Unsui's hand, "since I'm not on the field that much anyway." 

The part of Unsui that wants his teammates to focus on the game loses out to the part of him that wants a filmed record of every match; "Hand it off to whoever's not on the field when you're up," he says calmly, corners of his mouth quirking up when the camcorder disappears out of his hand and materializes in Kotaro's. "You need to be at the kick-off." 

"Oh. Right." 

"Nha, Unsui, I got it!" 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, we're smart, we can handle it, Unsui!" 

He goes over the footage later and although his teammates don't have the same steady hand or eye for detail as his brother (measuring people by Agon's standard is unfair anyway), Mizumachi gets all the important shots, eagle-eye views of the stadium with his ridiculous height at areas in the stands that are technically off-limits to spectators, and Kotaro's managed to capture the opponent team's key players with the kind of precision Unsui would have, if he were the one filming. 

Maybe he shouldn't be surprised; smaller teams are harder to manage, but at least he doesn't have to do it alone.


End file.
